


Hour is Nigh

by AnnaofAza



Series: Hartwin Week [7]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU, Gen, M/M, Obligatory "the world is different than you know" initiation speech, Professor Harry Hart, Slayer Eggsy Unwin, Watcher Harry Hart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A Slayer..." the professor murmurs, pulling up a chair to sit in front of him. His voice is calm, as if this is just another literature lecture. "It sometimes runs in families, but I never thought...well, your father was one, too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hour is Nigh

Eggsy shifts in the uncomfortable leather chair. He tries his best to read the report upside on the desk, but Arthur—just one name on the shiny plaque, like some kind of wannabe rockstar—soon flips it so the contents are in front of his face. Scowling at the empty side of the paper, Eggsy waits for him to be done with it all. The embossed gold emblem of Kingsman Academy shines in what little sunlight streams through the closed blinds.

“It’s a good thing,” Arthur finally says, reluctantly. “That your father also enrolled here.”

Like Eggsy is just another tosser, sailing in on his parents’ influence and money. The young man made sure to drop his glare before Arthur put down the folder, but at the hard stare the university president gives him, Eggsy’s sure he saw it anyway. The clock ticks slowly. He should be on his way to his first class already.

“You certainly have a knack for getting into trouble.” Arthur makes a disapproving  _hmm_ noise. “I see a car thievery and reckless driving report on your arrest record. And that’s just for starters.”

“The owner dropped charges.” Eggsy says quickly, fingering the medallion’s chain around his neck.   
  
Arthur frowns, placing the folder away in a desk drawer. “Well. I do hope you try to best fit in.”  _And it’s highly unlikely that you will,_ he seemed to say.

Someone knocks on the door, and with Merlin’s direction, steps into the office. Eggsy feels the need to stand up, looking up at the man in a formal, navy blue, pin-striped suit and tie. His tortoiseshell glasses are what his mates, Jamal and Ryan, would have called  _hipster_ , and his dark brown hair is slicked back. Eggsy catches the label on one of the books he was carrying— _Property of Professor Hart_ —and how the man’s eyes seem to inspect him in one, quick glance.

Arthur nods at him. “Ah, Harry, I was just introducing Gary Unwin to our mission here at Kingsman Academy.”

“Hello, Gary,” Professor Hart greets, shaking his hand. Eggsy doesn’t expect Hart’s hands to be worker's hands, calloused and strong. And is that scabbing on his right knuckles?

“Eggsy,” he corrects, not missing the slight eye-twitch of Arthur’s. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure. I believe you’re a first year?” At Eggsy’s nod, Hart smiles warmly. “Well, then you’re most likely in one of my classes. I wish you the best of luck today.”

Weird, with a professor being so friendly to him when they’ve only met, but compared with the university headmaster’s blatant dislike, Eggsy prefers the former. He grinned back. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Hart says, and that seems eerily like a promise.

* * *

His first class is self-defense, but since the instructor’s noticeably absent, everyone simply walks out of the room and goes off to their own devices. Eggsy, unused to just leaving—secondary schools usually supplied a last-minute substitute—sits on the windowsill and pretends not to notice the whispering in his direction. His uniform's like everyone else’s, but from the moment he spoke, some prat—Charlie—had called him on it and proceeded to make _peasant_ jokes, of all things.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” a girl says, after Charlie swaggers out with his friends, snickering. “He wants to prove he’s better than anyone else.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Amelia.” Her accent sounds thick—German?—and another student beside her nods formally in his direction.

“I’m Roxanne Morton, but call me Roxy.” She also shakes Eggsy’s hand. “Amelia’s right. Charlie’s a dick.”

Eggsy lets out a startled laugh. “Ha! I’m glad you think that. I’m starting to think nearly everyone is unpleasant here.” As they go outside to kill some time before their next period, Eggsy regales them with his morning with Arthur. Amelia rolls her eyes in sympathy, and Roxy laughs. “That sounds like him all right.” She winks. “Maybe  _he’s_ responsible for all the disappearances.”

“What disappearances?”

Concern washes over her face. “You don’t know?”

“I only got in yesterday,” Eggsy defends. “What do you mean?”

Roxy twists her hands behind her back. “They’re all students, and a lot of them—well, it’s a posh school and away from home some, so it’s not surprising when many of the students and professors go missing for the weekend. But when they didn’t come back…” She hesitates, taking in Eggsy’s rounded eyes. “The police searched, and found a professor—Lancelot, who’s supposed to be teaching—with his throat ripped open.”

 _“Shit.”_ Eggsy gasps. “I moved here to get a fresh start, and I’m sure this is  _not_ what me mum wanted! Did they catch the bastard who did it?”

Roxy shakes her head. “No,” she admits. “They’re narrowing it down to an animal attack, but…”

“You don’t think it is.”

Glancing at Amelia, Roxy hesitates. “It sounds silly, but…there’s talk. His blood was drained out of him, all of it, and I don’t think an animal would be that patient and methodical, that’s all.” She shrugs. “Like I said, it’s a slim theory…”

They talk more, tossing ideas around. Amelia shares half of a biscuit with Eggsy, and Roxy tells him various shortcuts around the campus. Eggsy ends up heading to class with Roxy—Amelia has some fancy computer programming class with some snarky teacher called  _Merlin_  to go to—feeling much better about this university. 

* * *

Professor Hart doesn’t force him to introduce himself, but he does single out Eggsy for a demonstration by making him stand up and read lines from  _Pygmalion._ Luckily, Eggsy can bullshit his way through a demand of Hart’s about Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins's relationship by remembering some plot points of  _My Fair Lady._ “I mean, it’s complicated,” Eggsy rambles. “Eliza feels so different because Henrysort of  _remade_  her, but Henry fell for her because of her old personality. She’s a proper lady and all, but that doesn’t mean shit. Er. Sorry.”

 When the class is done chuckling, Hart nods. “And what do you think happens at the end of the play? After the curtains close?”

“I don’t know,” Eggsy says. “Maybe they reconcile and accept their growth and each other, or Eliza goes back to her old boyfriend, then both are miserable because they missed a chance. It’s kind of like  _The_   _Lady, or the Tiger_.”

The professor smiles, and Eggsy makes himself sit back down, the back of his neck suddenly hot. “Astute.”

Roxy, for some reason, grins at him, but Eggsy doesn’t have time to wonder, because Hart’s off talking about Greek mythology allusions and misogyny and the use of dialect, and Eggsy begins scribbling notes so he can pass his first exam.

He makes it through his last few classes, and instead of eating alone in a corner, Roxy and Amelia sit down with him and advise him on which food, professors, and other students to avoid. When Eggsy mentions he does gymnastics, Roxy mentions her black belt, and Amelia her ability to hack into any phone with her laptop, demonstrations culminate until one of the workers tell them that they have to leave and to stop doing flips between the tables. They all walk together to the dorm, Eggsy reluctantly splitting ways to go to the boy’s side.

He doesn’t see the man watching him.

* * *

Eggsy does all of his homework and looks around the dorm. Either because no one wanted a room with him, or because this was a one-room and he didn’t know it, Eggsy had no one to tell him to turn off his music or throw a party with no notice. The silence, compared to home, should have been relaxing, but it just seemed odd. He’d called his mum to check up on her, and Michelle had reassured her that everything was “fine,” but at a bark from Dean, she’d quickly said her goodbyes and hung up the phone. He didn’t even get a chance to talk to his sister.

A laptop, unfortunately, had not been included in the scholarship, but Eggsy knows the library is open for a few more hours. Maybe he can go on the Internet or something. Throwing on a jacket, Eggsy takes his key and a campus map Roxy printed out for him, and tests the door several times before determining that it’s locked.

Even with the map, he still gets lost. Though the dorms are on campus, the unfamiliar, formal buildings all look the same, and most of them are connected by halls with too many corners and routes. While going down one, he notices that a light is on in one of the rooms. Perhaps he can ask for directions. Eggsy enters, about to announce his entrance and what he wants, then stops.

In the front of the lecture room is a woman dressed in all black with—no joke—shining metal legs like something out of one of his favorite animes, with what looks to be a professor.  At first, Eggsy immediately assumes that he’s stumbled upon some tryst, but something about it seems  _off._

The woman is sneering, gripping the man by the forearms, and even though she’s shorter and thinner, the man’s held fast as if he couldn’t move at all. Instinctively, Eggsy knows that the woman is  _strong_ , stronger than she looks. Her lips move, and whatever she’s saying is frightening the older man. He shivers, mouth unable to utter a sound.

When she presses her hand against his throat, Eggsy knows he has to do something.

“Hey!” Eggsy shouts. “Stop!”

In hindsight, it’s a stupid move, but the woman actually let him go in surprise. Eggsy yanks out his mobile and begins to dial the police, but she’s  _fast—_ darting across the room quicker than lightning and kicking the phone out of his hands, slicing it in two. Cursing, Eggsy tries to ignore his bleeding fingertips and blocks a punch. His arm feels as if a hammer’s been dashed against it, but it’s almost worth seeing the surprise in her dark brown eyes.

The shadows shift, and her face—tanned with bold features—morphs into something terrifying: sharp angles, black eyes like pupils have swallowed the whites, and  _fangs._ Eggsy, with a yell, dodges a swift kick and gropes for something to use as a weapon. He knows he can’t hold up well under her assaults, so he throws some chairs as a distraction, watching her cut through them like tissue paper and simply leaning to the side to avoid them. Her reflexes are quicker than a cat’s, and it takes all of Eggsy’s concentration to avoid an attack, but with one slice, his left arm is bleeding onto the floor. The professor is up against the blackboard, eyes wide, but Eggsy has no time to keep an eye on him.

His gaze flickers to one of the desks, and his fingers close around a pencil. Just like stabbing an Epi-pen into Jamal’s thigh when a bee stings him, Eggsy sinks it into her forearm.

She  _howls_  as if he’s burned her with a red-hot poker, and to his surprise, the skin surrounding the pencil is turning dark-gray. She throws out her arms and shoves, sending Eggsy flipping backwards over a desk. The woman then snatches the professor, who’s hiding underneath a chair, and throws him at Eggsy as she makes her escape.

Eggsy slams into the floor, headfirst, the weight on his chest heavier than he thought.

“Sir,” he pants, “sir, we ought to call—”

But now the man’s eyes are  _black,_ and his expression is a dehydrated man just finding an oasis in the desert. With animalistic grows, he rips open Eggsy’s coat and shirt down the chest, and Eggsy actually freezes,  _terrified._

His breath is suddenly hot on Eggsy’s face, and hands are trying to undo his collar—he feels teeth at a delicate vein on his neck—Eggsy kicks and kicks, screaming, angry and afraid, “Get the fuck off me! Get off! No! No—”

And the man explodes into a cloud of dust.

Eggsy, trembling, looks up into the face of Professor Hart.

* * *

"That was no longer a mortal." Harry—that mad bastard had calmly told Eggsy to refer to him as such—says. "He has the scent of Valentine on him. He must have been turned, like Gazelle." 

"You're crazy,” Eggsy mutters, flinching when Harry lightly touches the side of his neck, the other hand clenched around a wooden stake.

“You’re not bitten. Good.” The professor pulls him to his feet and hustles him into a nearby chair, taking off his jacket and offering it to Eggsy. “If you can put this on, we can go to my dormitory. I have medical supplies there, for your injuries...”

Eggsy pushes it away. “No,” he spits, “there’s no way I’m going with you until you explain to me what the fuck is going on.” He looks around, desperately searching for something against a fucking  _stake_ , but his supplies are limited. The pencil, as far as he knows, is still embedded into the woman’s—Gazelle’s?—flesh.    
  
Harry startles. "Didn’t you see? Has no one ever...?"  
  
"Ever what?" Eggsy demands.   
  
"A Slayer..." the professor murmurs, pulling up a chair to sit in front of him. His voice is calm, as if this is just another literature lecture. "It sometimes runs in families, but I never thought...well, your father was one, too.”

Eggsy wants to sit down, but realizes he already is. “That’s not explaining it at all. A Slayer?”

“Of vampires. Not just them—there are other things out there: monsters, demons, creatures from the dark. Werewolves, witches, warlocks, giants, ifrits, maybe even a member of the Fair Folk if you’re unlucky…”

Yeah, Eggsy  _really_ wants to lie down. Or get a strong drink. Or both. The more Harry talks about destiny and blood and about some evil overlord or whatever trying to turn everyone into vampires, the crazier he sounds, but Eggsy’s seen the speed, the strength, and the teeth. He’d be throwing up what he ate at dinner if the adrenaline wasn’t still kicking in.

“You said my father was one?” Eggsy blurts out, interrupting a small tirade about dragons— _dragons_ —and Harry stops, suddenly looking very guilty.

“Your father saved my life. You might not remember, but I gave you that medal you’re wearing around your neck.” He nods, chin pointing to indicate the place around Eggsy’s bare neck. “He was a good man, very brave, and since it was…my fault, as his Watcher, about his death, I thought if you needed me—“

“ _You_  sent the letter?” Eggsy remembered dialing the phone number at the back of his dad’s medal, getting released from jail, and opening an envelope the next day, congratulating him on his full scholarship to Kingsman Academy, all expenses paid. Dean had jumped at the prospect of dorms far away from home, and through tears, Michelle told him to go.  _You’re so bright, with a whole future ahead of you, love. You need to get out of this place._

He hated leaving his mum and his little sister at the whim of Dean, but the offer was hard to pass up. With Eggsy out of the house, expenses for food, clothing, and shelter would be eliminated—hopefully, more money for a growing baby and the welfare of his mum, not to more cheap beer and secret drug stashes.

“I did.”

“So I just got in because you called in a favor?” Eggsy scowls. “Nice to know where I stand.”

“You wouldn’t have made it in, even with my influence, if you didn’t have what it takes.” Harry snaps back. “I could have sent you a stipend—only accessed by you—or arranged for an apprenticeship somewhere. But  _you’re_ special. I read your file.”   
  
"You know, then." Eggsy looks his professor challengingly, dead in the eye. "Smart but lazy student, dropped out of the army, minor felonies, some drug charges. I'm just a screw-off deadbeat."   
  
"That's not what I see."   
  
Eggsy rolls his eyes. "Well, what do you see, Harry?"   
  
The other man is suddenly solemn. "I see a young man with potential." He leans forward in his seat to place a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, his voice echoing in the empty lecture hall. "A young man who is loyal," Eggsy swallows at the close contact, "who can do as he is asked, and wants to do something good with his life."

 _A Slayer._ He could fight like Harry, defend himself, save lives. He still doesn’t exactly know what it means, but it sounds grand and glorious and noble. Better than someone trampling through life without a clue, away from home and with nowhere else to go but here.   
  
"You're wrong about one thing," Eggsy finally croaks.   
  
Harry leans back, disapproving. "Which one?"   
  
The younger man smiles cheekily. "The doing as he's asked part."   
  
The Watcher only rolls his eyes. "We'll have to work on that." He then offers his coat to Eggsy, who hesitantly takes it and begins to put it on. “Good. Now, follow me. Your injuries still need to be seen to, and I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

 _I really do,_ Eggsy thinks.


End file.
